


Solfeggietto

by Dovesummer



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Murder Husbands, Post-Canon, i still suck at tagging, sex and murder although it's not super explicit, well I didn't think so when I wrote it anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:55:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26305231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dovesummer/pseuds/Dovesummer
Summary: “How strange, to be so in tune with someone that you are uncertain of where they end and you begin and yet to feel so wholly yourself in their presence.”  He hadn’t meant to say it aloud but he did, the words flowing softly across his lips of their own accord.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 6
Kudos: 107





	Solfeggietto

Theirs isn’t a love story. It’s the push and pull between two people existing at opposite ends of a spectrum, driven irrevocably toward each other and meeting in a violent rendering, crashing into each other and leaving broken pieces behind. It’s a story of contradictions; rage, cruelty, violent manipulations and bitter darkness coupled with recognition, understanding, acceptance and a harsh, unforgiving beauty. 

They are blurred together in this rendering and Will still often feels uncertain of his edges. 

“How strange, to be so in tune with someone that you are uncertain of where they end and you begin and yet to feel so wholly yourself in their presence.” He hadn’t meant to say it aloud but he did, the words flowing softly across his lips of their own accord.

There isn’t much space between them, there never is, but Hannibal reaches across what little is there to pull him close. The embrace is surprisingly chaste and could be seen as merely comfort between friends for want of a closer look. Hannibal’s strong arms are warm and heavy on his upper back, his arms circling Hannibal’s ribs, his hands clasped at the small of Hannibal’s back. Their height difference isn’t significant, but Will tilts his head down into Hannibal’s chest, making it seem larger than it is. Hannibal’s chin rests gently on the top of his head. 

They stand like that for several minutes, enjoying the peace of breathing together and the gentle breeze drifting off the channel. There is a calm in simply being together and feeling the connection between them. 

It’s late and the streets are still, though there are still some sounds of life drifting in from far away. It’s just enough that a few more muffled noises won’t be out of place. They continue to stand, alone together on the street, until a man emerges from a home farther down. In Will’s mind he steps out of the fog onto the cobbled street, though in reality there is no fog to speak of. 

Neither he nor Hannibal make any motion that would indicate to the other man they have noticed him, remaining in their gentle embrace on the side of the street. But Will’s eyes have already dilated slightly, the darkness around him receding and his vision acute, focused. His pulse increases incrementally. It’s not enough that anyone except Hannibal would notice. Hannibal allows a slight twitch of his lip, a tiny change in his face betraying an inner excitement. Will is calm but alert, controlled until the moment the man walks behind them and Will turns in a flash, swiftly kicking his legs out from under him. 

Though the kick is strong, it is the element of surprise that takes the man down; a sudden ferocity from a man who, until seconds before, had been held so gently, almost submissively, in his partner’s arms. And Will does look ferocious now, standing the moonlight, as Hannibal walks swiftly to the downed man and, with a strength that to Will still sometimes seems otherworldly, casually breaks his neck. Not to kill but to incapacitate. He is alive as they drag him from the dim street to the darker alley. He only ceases to breathe after they have cut into his chest, cracked his ribs apart and carefully removed organ after organ. 

Hannibal watches Will as they perform their work. They are silent, but the silence is companionable. They don’t need to speak to know what the other needs or to know what needs to be done. As Will is cutting out the lungs and heart, Hannibal sits back to consider the man in front of him. Will as he first met him was all emotion and frayed nerve endings, spilling out of himself. Barely controlled chaos. In diametric opposition to Hannibal’s methodical, practiced but cold courtesy. The Will he watches is controlled, practiced. And Hannibal - well, Hannibal never thought he would watch another human being in awe and wonder and want nothing more than to see that person daily. They temper each other, each influencing the other in small but important ways. 

Once done, Will hangs an old lantern from the man’s breastbone. They tie him to the fence lining the channel and Will lights the candle in the lantern. They leave him, a guide for anyone making their way down the channel in the dark. Will smiles and believes it is fitting; a man who pulled so many young people into the darkness of addiction now lights a way out. He feels powerful. Righteous.

They were careful, as always, but are still grateful not to run into anyone else on the street as they make their way back to the flat they’re renting. Will feels a steady thrumming beneath his skim, the afterglow settling in. They will burn their clothes and the cloth the man laid on while they cut into him. Hannibal will, once again, miss his plastic suit as they throw the beautiful, expensive clothing into the fire. It doesn’t matter. Hannibal may miss it, momentarily, but he seems to have access to almost limitless funds to buy more. Will sometimes wonders about the source of his wealth but chooses not to ask. 

Clothes are shed as soon as they are home. Hannibal starts the fire and they piled their items on top. It will burn overnight and in the morning they will dispose of the ashes. They make their way to the shower, moving in tandem as though they have done this countless times before - and though the actual number of their shared kills is still one Hannibal can count on one hand, their movements are carefully choreographed by shared imaginings. 

As the enter the shower together, Hannibal notices Will looking at him, curious, questioning. Hannibal says nothing, merely raises an eyebrow as a question in response. 

‘We’ve barely spoken tonight,” Will says, by way of explanation. But it’s not an accusation. There’s no anger, it’s merely an observation; a casual statement of fact. 

Hannibal laughs lightly. “We don’t need words to understand each other,” he says. “We put up walls against each other with our words, but those walls are gone now.”

Will smiles. Under the spray of the shower they wash each other, touching innocently without any real intent. Hannibal massages Will’s shoulders, enjoying the sensation of flesh in his hands in a wholly different way and grinning at the soft moan he draws when hitting a particularly sore spot. 

He is about to turn off the water when Will turns. The movement shouldn’t take Hannibal by surprise, and neither should the kiss. It’s something they’ve done dozens of times now and Will seems to enjoy making out in the shower. But it does, anyway, just as it does every time Will initiates this kind of contact. This time it’s a gentle kiss, languid, deepening in a slow, unhurried way. 

Will pulls back and presses his lips to the pulse point on Hannibal’s neck. It’s not a kiss so much as a measurement. Murder might not elevate the man’s pulse but Will kissing him does; his heart is racing. Will thrills in pulling this reaction from someone so carefully controlled. He can feel the life and the want humming, contained but just barely, under the skin. 

Hannibal’s breath hitches as Will’s teeth sink into the soft flesh of his neck, the sting of the bite shocking and delighting him. Before he can consciously recognize the movement Will finds himself pinned against the side of the shower, lips locked in a heated kiss, and there is no longer anything innocent about the way Hannibal is touching him. Will grins against the other man’s mouth, causing him to pull away just enough that their lips are no longer touching, panting slightly. 

“Fuck me, Hannibal” Will says, his voice low and gravelly. It’s not a request but a command and Hannibal is happy to comply. 

They make their way to the bed and Hannibal takes Will in his mouth as he begins stretching him. Will moans and bucks impatiently at him. Now is when the swirling emotions, the chaotic thoughts and colors that are so much a part of Will begin to spill out of him. The feeling of heady anticipation is heavy in their bedroom and when Hannibal finally enters him Will wastes no time twisting his legs around the other man’s hips and pulling him in so that they are as close as possible. 

If someone had told Will, years ago, that he would be in hiding, sharing his life, his bed and his body with this man he would have said it was impossible. Or he might have said it was inevitable, depending on the moment he was asked. But that was a different Will Graham, then, and this Will Graham left so many things he thought he needed behind and has gained so many more. This Will has been remade in blood and salt and pain. The shadow of the former Will still hangs over him at times, but the tiny corner of his brain that occasionally screams is easily silenced. Will knows he can’t escape who he once was anymore than he can escape who he is now. All those things have led here, to this moment, and he doesn’t want to escape them.

Hannibal’s eyes are searching his and Will realizes he has momentarily paused in his motion. “Will,” he says, and it’s more than his name. It’s a sigh, a question, a promise. 

“I’m here,” Will says, shifting his hips and enjoying the friction. He grips Hannibal tighter, pulling him impossibly closer, craving as much contact as possible as if by pressing together enough of their skin they could truly fade into each other. As his awareness travels fully back into his body, Will realizes his wandering thoughts have allowed it time to betray him. He is already perilously close to orgasm and he wants this to last longer. 

Hannibal is all too aware of that of course, and flashes Will a wicked grin before shifting just so - and with his last bit of coherent thought Will allows himself to be amused. It’s only fair, he has done the same thing to Hannibal himself. They enjoy this power; the ability to dismantle each other and bring themselves back together. 

The former Will might have been embarrassed at the noises he makes as he unravels - he had never thought of himself as loud. Though he has to admit a part of him allows and encourages it because he knows what it does to Hannibal, who finishes as his name graces Will’s lips.

Hannibal crawls behind him on the bed and reaches an arm around to pull him close. They’ll get up momentarily to clean themselves, but these few moments after are part of their ritual. Their fingers wind together of their own accord; it’s not a conscious thought for either of them. 

Will is under no illusions about how this will end. There has been blood, there will be more, and eventually it will be theirs. The only possible ending to this is death, likely at the hands of the authorities that are still searching for them. They have both been caged before and neither will be again. Will has concluded that despite the end he knows is coming - perhaps soon, perhaps a long time from now - he is happy. And perhaps because he knows how this must end he is determined to enjoy each moment until it does. 

Hannibal places a gentle kiss behind his ear and gets up to grab them towels. He passes one to Will and asks “anything you want to share?”

Will grimaces slightly, “I’m sorry.” 

Hannibal merely shrugs, unfazed. “I’m not offended, dear Will. We understand how our minds work and are used to divided attentions.” He sits down on the bed next to Will and takes his hand. A gesture of support. Something, years ago, he would have done as a calculated attempt to manipulate, though that has not been true with Will for some time now. 

“It’s only that you seem especially caught up in your thoughts tonight,” he continues, “and I am wondering if there’s anything you would like to talk about.”

Will shakes his head. “I was thinking that this won’t last, our story together will eventually end in our deaths.”

“Everyone’s story ends in death,” Hannibal says. “The manner may be different, but the result is the same. That’s why I focus on enjoying all the beautiful, wonderful things available to me now.” 

Hannibal looks at him intently and Will blushes slightly under the gaze. He clears his throat. “I came to the same conclusion. I am happy now, here, with you, and I intend to enjoy it.”

“I am glad to hear it,” Hannibal says, pulling Will in for a long, lingering kiss. “Nightcap?” 

Will laughs. It was by now very late, but he found he wasn’t tired. “Absolutely,” he says. As they make their way into the living room Will’s thoughts wander again to how long this could possibly last. But he finds he doesn’t really care, and as he considers the possibility of his demise he doesn’t fear that, either. He looks at Hannibal, wearing only pajama pants and pouring expensive whiskey into crystal tumblers. There is nothing to fear in death now that he has finally accepted his life.

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally going somewhere else and now I'm not sure the first paragraph really fits with the rest of the work. But I left it in anyway and I am posting because when I originally signed up for this site in 2015 I had intentions of writing more and then I just never did. I want to write and posting things I've done will motivate me to do more. I hope. 
> 
> Like the last thing I posted this wasn't actually what I intended to write but these things seem to have a mind of their own. 
> 
> And boy, I am really terrible at titles. I can write 2k words without thinking too hard about it but I can't come up with a stupid title.


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